Killing Joe
by Phx
Summary: When Frank Hardy is arrested for murder, his father races to find out what exactly happened when his sons fought on Sheila Bridge. Completed
1. Chapter 1

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 1**

The old man wandered down towards the bridge with his fishing rod lying loosely over his shoulder. It was a beautiful autumn morning and he intended to spend it dangling his legs over the side of the bridge and not really hoping for the fish to bite.

His wife never understood that. She often commented on how odd it was for the old fisherman to never actually want to catch anything. But for him it wasn't the catching that was so attractive now, it was more just the time alone. Fishing was his respite from the real world, and – although he'd never tell her this, because he did dearly love his wife – his way to get out of the house for a couple of hours each morning.

So, filled with no more intention than just that, the old man trod up the gravel path and towards the small single lane bridge that crossed the Sheila River.

Not a big river by any stretch of imagination, the Sheila, however, was deep and well known amongst the locals for its heavy undertows and shifting river bottoms. Children were warned to stay away from the river from the time they were babes, but still, every couple of years or so, there was always a drowning.

'_Not one of late_,' the old man mused as the bridge came into sight. He thought about the last one and shook his head. It had been a sad tale – two young brothers had been rough-housing on the bridge deck, when one fell over. His body was never recovered…and neither had the family. They ended up leaving the small town, finding being so close to the Sheila River too much a reminder of what they had lost.

Hearing raised, angry voices, the old man slowed down, his nervousness increasing when he heard muttered curses and then the sound of flesh striking flesh – someone was fighting!

Breaking into a trot, the fisherman burst through the underbrush in time to see two young men engaged in a vicious battle on the bridge deck.

"Hey!" he shouted out as he saw the taller, dark-haired one wrap his hands around the other guy's throat, pinning him back against the feeble railing. They were kids really, he realized in shock, not more than eighteen or nineteen, at the most, he figured!

The dark-haired teen looked at him and the old man stopped in his tracks, their eyes locking briefly; the distraction allowed the other kid, a shorter blond male, to break the hold and shove the other away as he made a run for it.

Recovering quickly, the dark-haired kid grabbed the other boy's arm and while the old man watched in horror, he cocked back his fist, and landed a powerful blow on the blond youth's jaw.

The old man actually winced as he heard the sound of the crack; saw the blond teen's head snap back and then watched as the dark-haired boy grabbed the other guy and with one mighty shove, pushed him over the railing and into the swirling Sheila River!

"NOOO!" the old man shouted and then, dropping his fishing rod, turned and ran back towards town as fast as he could.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank Hardy glanced at the old man's retreating form and then down into the water where his brother's body had disappeared. He waited for a few moments longer and then left the bridge, rubbing his sore hand as he did so. _'Damn, that hurt_,' he grumbled to himself.

Casting one more look at the river, he jogged after the old man. He wanted to make sure the old guy didn't have a heart attack or something along the way….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sheriff Tom Oakes was just finishing his cup of coffee when a white-faced, gasping Walter Miller burst into his office.

"Sheriff," the old man gasped, "there's…been…a…killing!"

Immediately the tall red-haired man was on his feet. Grabbing the old townsman by the arm, he led the distraught figure to a chair, made him sit down and got him a cup of water.

After downing the water, Walter thanked him.

"What are you talking about, Walter?" Sheriff Oakes demanded as he stood in front of the old man, leaning back against the desk with his hands folded across his chest.

"When I went fishing this morning," the old man started, "like I always do, you know? Like everyone in Sheila Flats knows I do. I saw two young men fighting up on the bridge and then—" the old man stopped to gulp down another mouthful of water, "and then one of them pushed the other one over!"

Oakes straightened up, his face grim. He nodded at Walter as he moved to grab his coat. "Do you think you'd recognize the guy if you ever saw him again?"

"Oh yeah! Tall, dark haired! The devil looked me right in the face! Oooh…I'll be having nightmares about that one," Walter assured the other man as he got up to follow him out of the office.

The sheriff radioed his deputy to get a search party together. If they were lucky they'd find the body, but the red-haired man was not optimistic. The Sheila rarely gave up what she took.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank saw the old man come out of the sheriff's office and let out a sigh of relief. Making sure he was seen, the eighteen-year-old walked slowly towards the small Sheila Flats diner. He'd get something to eat while he waited. There was no use running.

He'd rather _not _risk getting a bullet in the back.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"That's him!" Walter squeaked as he grabbed Sheriff Oakes' arm and pointed towards the young man walking towards the diner.

The sheriff glanced at the suspect in surprise. He looked back at the old man. "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir," Walter stated resolutely and then he frowned, "Do you know him?"

"Not personally," Oakes admitted and then tipped his head at the old man. "Now, you wanna show me exactly where this happened?"

"You aren't going to just go and arrest him?" the old man asked in disbelief, "He might take off!"

"I doubt it," the sheriff said and then unlocked the door of his jeep. "Let's go, Walter."

Ten minutes later, Walter led the sheriff exactly to the spot where he had seen the dark-haired teen push his victim over.

Sheriff Oakes stared over the railing and into the murky water. He shook his head and then stepped back and looked around. Already two beat-up pickup trucks and a dozen men, many wearing checked thermal shirts, had responded to the call to search.

Catching the eye of his black-haired deputy, Sheriff Oakes called him over.

"I'm going back to town," he told the younger man, "You're in charge here." The deputy nodded and then went back down to the riverbed.

"Come on Walter, I'll drop you off at home. Deputy Parsons will be by in a bit to take your statement. " The sheriff was already walking back towards his jeep.

"What about the kid? You aren't going to just let him get away with this, are you?" the old man demanded as he sat in the passenger seat and buckled up.

"Nope," Oakes said and then started the jeep and pulled away.

Frank had just scooped the ice cube out of his glass of water and ran it across his bruised knuckles when he saw a big, red-haired uniformed man come into the diner, look around and then approach him. He already knew who the man was and had been expecting him.

The man sat down in the chair across the table from him without saying anything. He waited a moment and then said, "I'm Sheriff Oakes. Local law in Sheila Flats." He added, "You want to tell me where your brother is?"

"Who?" Frank feigned innocence.

"You know who," Oakes said, his voice cool but curt, "I make it my business to know everything that goes on in my town. Including about the two hot shot young brothers who've come in, looking for a good time at a cheap price. Now where is he?"

Glancing around the diner, Frank then sat back in the chair, "Not here."

"I can see that, you wise-ass," the sheriff said.

"Than why'd you ask?" the teen pressed.

"Why?" Oakes leaned across the table towards him. "Because I was hoping that maybe you had a better explanation for him not being here than the one given to me by one of the local boys. A witness, if you'd prefer….A witness who claims you were fighting with your brother up on Sheila Bridge and tossed him into the drink. I guess I was wrong, though, wasn't I?"

"I guess so," Frank grit out.

The sheriff stood up and then motioned for Frank to stand. The youth complied and then turned around and put his hands behind his back when he saw the handcuffs dangling from the man's hand.

He winced as the cuffs were snapped around his wrists and then the sheriff stated, loudly, "Frank Hardy you are under arrest for the murder of your brother, Joseph Hardy."

Frank never said anything. There was no point. The sheriff had a witness.

And then without further ado, Oakes read him his rights as he led him from the diner.

"You get one phone call," the sheriff told him, and Frank nodded.

"Good, 'cause I want to call my father."

Sheriff Oakes nodded. He had been expecting that….


	2. Chapter 2

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 2**

Sheriff Oakes led Frank into the small office and had him sit down next to an old wooden desk. Sitting down across from him, he pushed a phone towards the teen and then looked at him expectantly.

"What?" Frank demanded, "I can't dial like this!" His hands were still firmly cuffed behind him.

The sheriff shrugged. "Give me the number, I'll dial for you."

"You going to hold the receiver for me as well?" the teen snapped, irritated but the man just favored him with a smirk and pressed the HANDS FREE button.

"Hey, you aren't allowed to listen!" Frank protested.

"This is my town and my office. I'll do whatever the damn well I please," Oakes told him, "now you can either give me the number, or else I'll just call your daddy for you. Fenton Hardy isn't it?"

Frank paled, "You know him?"

"I know OF him," the sheriff made the distinction, "ex-cop. Fancy-pants detective now. Heard you and your brother were following in daddy's footsteps," he snorted, "guess that's changed now, hasn't it?"

The boy never answered him, just recited off a number and then waited while the man dialed it. They listened to the rings going through.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Fenton Hardy glanced down at the number on his cell phone. He didn't recognize it.

"Hardy," he answered.

(Mr. Hardy? Sheriff Tom Oakes here, from the Sheila Flats Sheriff's office. Sorry to have to make your acquaintance like this, but I have someone here that wants to talk to you. Frank—)

The sleuth wasn't surprised to hear he was on speaker phone.

"Frank?" he repeated.

(Uh, hi Dad) came a rather reticent response (I've run into a bit of trouble down here….)

"Frank, what's wrong?" Fenton demanded, his voice rising in concern, as he fired questions at his son. "Where's your brother and why are you calling from the sheriff's office?"

(Well actually Dad, Joe is kind of the reason why I'm calling) came another reluctant reply.

"Is he missing or something? What's going on, Frank?" the detective pressed.

(Well he is and he isn't…)

"He is and he isn't what?" Fenton pressed, his tone impatient and clipped. He heard a muttered '_for Pete's sake'_ and recognized it as the sheriff's voice.

(Mr. Hardy) Oakes cut in (Let me just make this short, since your son seems to want to drag this out until I'm old enough to retire. Frank is being held on a murder charge. I have a witness who saw him push your other son into the Sheila River.)

"WHAT?" the detective roared.

(As of right now, I do have a search party combing the river for Joseph, but I have to be honest with you. There is a savage undertow and the chances are slim that we'll find him.)

"Frank, is this true?" Fenton demanded.

(We had a fight, Dad) he heard his son admit (I just – I just lost it with him…you know how Joe gets! He never knows when enough is enough! And – and – well, yeah…I guess that's kinda true.)

The sleuth paused for a moment, exhaling loudly. "Okay, son. Okay. First things first, are you okay?"

(Yeah. My hand's a bit sore though…)

"Sheriff," Fenton addressed Oakes, "have you had his injuries taken care of?"

(Injuries?) the other man's tone was indignant.

"Yes, my son just said his hand was hurt. I'll expect you to have him taken care of. I'll be out there just as soon as I can," the sleuth promised.

(When can we expect you?) the sheriff asked.

"I'll have my pilot get the plane ready—" Fenton glanced down at his watch. "We should be there in less than six hours!"

(We'll see you then) Oakes promised.

"Oh, one thing, Sheriff," the detective caught him before the call was disconnected; "I am holding you personally responsible for my son's safety. I might have just lost my Joe, but I will NOT lose my Frank, do you understand?"

(Oh, I understand…very well, Mr. Hardy), came the response (I look forward to meeting you) And then the call was disconnected.

Fenton sat back in his chair and ran a hand across his face. _'Unbelievable,'_ he thought to himself, _'friggin' unbelievable'._

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

Tom Oakes clicked off the phone and smiled to himself. He loved dealing with people like Fenton Hardy. _'My Joe… my Frank,'_ he thought, '_oh yeah, that man is just concerned about one thing – his son'_ and that always made what Oakes was going to propose so enticing. _'Gotta love rich people with pride and spoiled babies,'_ he snorted silently as he grabbed Frank's arm, encouraging him to stand up.

'_Daddy'll do anything to keep his precious son – the only one he has left now – out of jail.'_

Leading Frank into the back room where the small cell was, Oakes opened the door and indicated for the teen to step inside and turn around before he removed the handcuffs.

As the teen rubbed his sore wrists and scowled at the sheriff, the man slammed the cell door shut and locked it. He then appraised the boy for a few long moments until Frank finally said, "What? Am I wearing something of yours?"

The sheriff chuckled. "Keep it up kid, 'cause handsome little boys like you get sucked up real nicely by the men in prison…lonely men with too much time on their hands and an itch they want you to scratch." He turned and started to walk away, but not before stopping and gazing at Frank intently. "Don't you feel any remorse for what you did? You killed your brother, son."

Frank stared the sheriff in the face. He snorted, "What do you know about remorse?"

Oakes cocked an eyebrow and shrugged before he left the cell and went back to his desk.

He shook his head as he sat back down and drained the last of his cold coffee. In six hours the great Fenton Hardy would be here.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Fenton Hardy lied when he said how long it would take him to get to the small midwestern town of Sheila Flats. He was only two hours away, staying in a neighboring town.

After hanging up with Frank and Sheriff Oakes, the detective checked out of the hotel, got into a rented four-wheel drive SUV and drove north. Ten minutes outside of Sheila Flats, he saw a small dirt road and turned onto it. The road was more a path than anything else, bumpy and overgrown; anything less than what he was driving would have never made it up here. The road ended at the river bank and Fenton had to get out and walk the rest of the way.

The sleuth frowned as he walked. Something wasn't right – _where was the truck the boys had rented?_

Picking up the pace, Fenton hurried up through the brush for another ten minutes before finally reaching a small rundown shack that crested the high ground.

"Joe!" he called out as he approached, "_Son?_" But there was no response. Throwing open the door, the detective stormed inside and then glanced around – nothing. The shack was empty.

With growing trepidation, he hurried back outside and stood, looking around. The sound of the Sheila River filled him with dread. _Where was Joe?_

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

Frank sat on the small cot in the jail cell for a little while until – out of sheer boredom – he lay down. He glanced down at his watch to check the time, not really surprised that the sheriff had deviated from protocol and let him keep his personal effects. The teen didn't expect to be in here for very long, and neither did Oakes apparently.

Closing his eyes, he shivered as a fleeting image of the last few minutes he and Joe had spent on the bridge crossed his mind, and he absently rubbed his sore knuckles…._His fist hitting Joe's jaw…shoving his brother against the railing… pushing him over…watching Joe fall into the murky water…fighting every instinct and impulse to reach out to catch him…and then – and then turning away._

The teen sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that everything had gone according to plan, but still he worried.

What if they had been wrong about the plan?

What if they had made an error in judgment?

What if the Sheila River was more formidable than either boy had given her credit for?

_What if—_

Frank shook his head. All the what-ifs in the world did not change one thing, and he would not feel any better until his father got him out of here, and he could see for himself that his brother was indeed all right.

'_This plan sounded so much better yesterday,' _he mentally groused as he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. His father would be here soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 3**

Joe Hardy was wet, cold and exhausted, but definitely not dead.

"Plan…sounded…hellavua lot…b-better last…night!" the seventeen-year-old gasped as he hauled his drenched butt out of the river and then collapsed on the bank.

Lying on his back and looking up at the cloudy morning sky, the blond teen waited to catch his breath as he took stock of his owies. Other than being exhausted, cold and wet, his jaw ached something fierce.

'_Big brother can certainly pack a punch,_' he grinned as he thought about their 'fight,' and then shivered. Time to get back to the shack and into some warm clothes! The last thing he needed was to catch pneumonia!

Besides, he wasn't sure how far down the river bank the searchers would look and he couldn't afford to be found, yet.

The plan was simple enough, actually. Fenton had a new client whose daughter had been murdered in Sheila Flats, by her boyfriend. There were witnesses to the murder, yet the boy's family had been able to 'buy' his way out of jail, so the family had hired Hardy Investigations to get the goods on the corrupt sheriff and deputy.

Fenton had immediately enlisted his sons to help. It would be a perfect cover. The boys would go to Sheila Flats 'on holiday' as themselves, and then one of them would 'murder' the other and get arrested.

Their father would then fly to the town, as the doting dad, willing to do 'anything' to get his son out. Once the sheriff made his offer, the state police could be brought in.

It sounded simple enough...and it was.

Of course, deciding which brother got to 'murder' which had almost led to real fisticuffs until Fenton, siding with Frank, adamantly agreed with his older son, that Joe was not going to be the one put in jail.

The younger boy couldn't figure out why they were so against him being the 'murderer,' although he suspected his being the family 'baby' might have had something to do with it.

Frank had actually used his brother's blond hair, blue eyes and striking looks against him, insisting that the younger boy would a lockup's dream date.

Aghast, Joe had taken exception to that and reminded Frank, that 'tall, dark and handsome' had a way of wooing the inmates too! The older boy had turned an interesting shade of crimson before Fenton cut in and ended the debate.

His brother was older and held a black belt in karate. And while Joe was no slouch in the physical combat arena himself, the older Hardy was registered as 'lethal.' So the decision was made.

Of course Frank was excited. After threatening time and time again over the years, to 'kill his baby brother', he was now going to get the opportunity to do so – in front of a witness, nonetheless!

Joe was still convinced it was just his father and brother being overprotective, but _Frank_ was going to jail – and that was that!

The fight on the bridge had been well staged. It hadn't taken the boys very long to find out that Walter Miller fished off the deck every morning, so they just had to get there before he did, wait until he was close and he would be their witness.

'_Provided he doesn't have a heart attack,' Joe had gibed at his brother as they waited. _

The clincher had been an almost knockout punch. And had it been delivered by anyone other than Frank, Joe would have been out like a light. But Frank had pulled the punch so it sounded a lot worse than it was. And while it had sent him reeling and his jaw still hurt, his brother had actually been very precise and Joe remained conscious.

Now when he hit the water…well that had been a bit close. The boys had done their research and knew about the powerful undertows, but still that, combined with the coldness, had given Joe – a normally powerful swimmer – more of a task than either had counted on.

However, that was all a moot point now. Joe _had_ made it and Frank should right now be getting arrested for his murder, if he hadn't been already!

Shivering, Joe hurried away from the riverbank and up the path towards the gravel road where he and Frank had left the 4x4 truck they had rented. The brothers actually had two vehicles – a car, which was still in town at the motel they had spent the last couple of nights at, and a truck they had used to get up here and stock the shack with supplies in case Joe ended up spending more than a night or two in hiding.

Either way, Joe needed somewhere to veg until everything played out, and a vehicle in case of an emergency. Fenton was not going to allow him to be stranded…anything could happen, particularly since he was going to be taking a plunge. The boy knew his father would have preferred that Sam Radley, Fenton's friend and partner, could have been at the shack waiting for Joe, but Sam was tied up testifying at a court case in Washington, D.C., so the detective just took a few extra precautions.

The first was that he would drop by to check on Joe himself, after he got Frank's call. Horrid local cell phone reception had nixed the original idea of Fenton waiting at the shack…and then, of course, the second thing was the other vehicle for the boys.

Crossing in front of the truck, Joe glanced in the window and saw his warm fleece pullover lying on the passenger seat, next to his overnight bag of dry clothes. Shivering intensely, he stuck his hand in his pocket to get the keys to unlock the door but then screwed up his face, as his jeans were still soaked. The keys were safe inside the shack where Joe had left them. The blond teen did not want to take any chances about them falling out in the river.

"O-o-h m-m-man," he stammered, his teeth chattering, "j-j-just m-m-my l-l-luck!" Moving swiftly, he clambered up the trail towards the small building, rubbing his hands briskly as he did.

'_Should have left warm stuff by a tree_,' he mentally berated himself, heaving a sigh of relief when he finally saw the shack.

Bursting into the front door, he snatched the truck keys and then hurried back down the path, already planning on turning the truck on and putting the heat on full blast for at least an hour! Well, maybe not that long, but until his teeth stopped chattering, anyway!

He had just unlocked the doors when he heard the sound of scuffling on the gravel behind him! Whirling around, he stopped dead when he saw two guys – probably six or seven years older than himself – and their sawed-off shotgun!

'_Oh crud_,' he thought, '_this is so not good!_'

"Ah, h-hi f-fellas," Joe said through chattering teeth as he tried to ignore the shotgun muzzle aimed directly at his chest.

One of the guys, shorter and stockier than the other with dirty blond hair and hazel-brown eyes, grinned at his friend, "Well ain't he a pretty boy?"

'_Swell,'_ Joe mentally griped, _'and Frank thought he was doing me a favor by being the one going to jail.'_

"Not as pretty as his truck though," the other guy, taller with jet-black hair held the shotgun steady as he looked at the Hardys' rented truck.

"That is a nice truck," the first guy agreed.

"W-well as luck would have i-it," Joe quipped working hard to keep his chattering teeth under control, "there's a special t-today. The truck is all y-yours, f-free!" He held up the keys, hoping they would take the vehicle and leave.

The darker-haired guy frowned as he looked at Joe, thoughtfully, "Why are you so wet?"

"F-fuse blew on the d-d-dryer," the sarcastic comment was out of his mouth before Joe even had a chance to restrain himself. But to his relief the two guys found that funny and started to laugh.

"He's pretty funny!" The blond-haired guy laughed, and then looked at his friend as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Gas is awfully expensive, isn't it Cletus?"

'_Cletus?'_ Joe thought, _'You gotta be kidding!'_ He bit his tongue to keep from snorting that out loud.

"Awfully so, Norton," Cletus agreed and then smiled a cold smile at Joe. "Let's go, Pretty Boy."

'_Norton?'_ And then the rest of what he said sunk in – _they wanted him to go with them?_

"W-what?" Joe stalled, rapidly trying to figure out some way out of this. It was too much to hope that his father would show up about now. Not enough time had passed.

"You heard me—" Cletus said, and then prodded Joe's chest with the muzzle, "move."

"Uh – I-I'd really r-r-rather not-t!" Joe said, gently pushing the muzzle away.

"Fine," Cletus said with a shrug; he cocked the hammer back.

"W-w-wait!" Joe said, "let's not b-b-be h-h-hasty h-h-ere!" He carefully turned around to get into the truck, but a sharp blow to the back of his head turned the world black!

The last thing he heard as he passed out was Norton snorting, "Time to have us some fun!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 4**

Someone was shaking him and his head hurt something fierce – that was all Joe knew as he slowly regained consciousness. He tried to move his hands to bat the hand away, already forming a sharp retort for Frank, but he couldn't. His hands were bound behind him, and as he opened his eyes, he focused on the unfamiliar face framed by greasy dark hair and piercing brown eyes – Cletus.

"So much for this being a dream," he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, relieved when the 'hillbilly-wannabe' stopped shaking him.

"Git up," Cletus growled, looking down at him from the opened back door of the truck.

"Why?" Joe demanded as he took stock of his situation. He was lying on his side on the floor in the back of his rental SUV, bound hand and foot. His clothes were still damp but he was no longer as cold as he had been; now he was just uncomfortable and stiff.

"'Cause we want to go shopping," came a gravelly reply.

'_Oh yeah,'_ the blond teen thought sourly_, 'can't forget about Norton.'_

"Don't let me stop you," Joe grumbled as he opened his eyes again and then gingerly flexed his jaw. '_An ice pack would be nice,' _he decided, '_for both my jaw and the back of my head!'_

Norton snorted in response. "Geez Cletus, we got ourselves a bona fide funny man!"

Cletus prodded Joe, none too gently, with the shot gun. "We want money."

"What the hell do I look like?" Joe demanded, his blue eyes narrowing angrily, "a flipping Money Tree? Go rob a bank or something!"

"Nah, this way is better," Cletus – obviously the brains of the operation – turned to Norton. "Take his shoes and socks and untie him. I'll sit in back in the back seat with him 'case he gets any funny ideas."

"My shoes and socks?" Joe repeated, wondering what was up, but he was ignored.

"Park in front of the bank machine and I'll get out with him. You keep the engine running," Cletus finished even as Norton was already moving to carry out his instructions.

"Hey!" the blond teen cried out indignantly as he was unshod, "what's the big idea!"

"It's in case you get any smart ideas," Cletus explained, "like trying to run away. This'll slow you down enough for me to get a good shot." His dark brown eyes narrowed hatefully on Joe. "Understand now?"

"Yeah." Joe winced as he sat up, his hands and ankles now untied and beginning to tingle painfully. He wondered how long he'd been out as he glanced through the windows of the truck and saw they were now stopped on a desolate roadway. Not familiar with the area anyway, the Bayport teen had no idea where they were.

Cletus took something out of his pocket – Joe's wallet – and the younger Hardy got a sinking feeling. No wonder they'd taken him, he realized, as he saw his dark-haired abductor open the wallet and fish out a blue bank card. They needed him.

"You're going to empty the account for us," the gun-holding carjacker told him, his face twisted in a crooked smile. '_He has a rather big nose for his face_,' Joe almost snickered out loud at the odd thought that crossed his mind, but didn't. Instead he scowled, really not wanting to give these guys his hard-earned money! Christmas was only a season away and he'd been planning on actually buying nice gifts this year instead of the socks he normally gave out!

But he also knew that wasn't such a bad idea either; once his father and Frank realized he was missing, they would immediately check for any activity on his bank account and be able to at least trace him to whatever godforsaken town these guys had targeted. So he sighed and nodded his head. "Whatever. But don't expect much."

"Oh come on," Cletus snorted, "rich kid like you is bound to have a pretty penny in his savings."

"Rich?" Joe snorted, "oh boy do you have the wrong guy!" He frowned as he got a good look at Norton, "Are you wearing my sweater?" And sure enough, Norton was! In fact, Norton was wearing all of Joe's clean clothes – the clothes the blond boy had intended on changing into when he'd been jumped!

"Yeah, hope you don't mind," Norton said, modeling the outfit for his captive, "kinda convenient that we look alike, eh? I can be you for a bit!"

"We look nothing alike," Joe refuted. And he was right, of course.

"You both got blond hair – that's close enough," Cletus said, motioning with the gun for Joe to move into the back seat and put his seatbelt on.

"What, Cletus?" came Norton's indignant reply as he sat down in the driver's seat and then swiveled around to look at his friend, "You saying I'm not pretty like him?" He slued a glance towards Joe.

"I am saying you both got blond hair, that's all," Cletus said with exaggerated patience, and Joe got a feeling that Norton was NOT the brightest bulb in the pack!

"Well, my feelings are hurt," Norton whined as he turned around in the seat and started the truck. "I've always prided myself on being the looks of the operation, and if I ain't got the looks, what have I got? Nothing!"

Joe had to look out the window, as he bit his lip so hard trying not to laugh, it hurt! Neither of these boys could be in any way considered anything more than plain and rather nondescript. '_Well, except for Cletus's big nose_', the young sleuth amended, and then sobered as the truck began to move. _Did his father know he was missing yet?_ Because as entertaining as these two hicks were, they were also dangerous, and the seventeen-year-old had no doubts they would kill him in a heartbeat when he'd worn out his usefulness….

Ten minutes later, Cletus, fed up with Norton's continued sulking over his 'prettiness,' exhaled loudly in frustration and snorted, "For the love of God, Norton. You are so blindingly beautiful it hurts to look at you! Now would you just shut up and drive, you're giving me a headache!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Tom Oakes looked up from a desk load of paperwork as a big mountain of a man filled the office door. He smiled as he recognized his good friend, and town doctor, Hiram Meredith.

"Hey Hiram," the sheriff greeted the other man.

Six-foot-four and of ample girth, the doctor tipped his head in a wordless greeting. The black bag he carried looked comical in his ham-sized hands.

"Patient's in the cell," Oakes said, already standing to lead the way, "little boy's got a sore paw."

"Aww, is that all," the doctor smirked, "hardly worth a visit is it?"

The sheriff snorted. "Oh, this one is a real piece of work. Shoved his younger brother off Sheila Bridge and then came back for coffee, acting like nothing happened."

Hiram shook his head. "What's with the young people today?"

"I dunno," his friend shrugged and then paused as he reached to open the door to the small holding area. "You can ask his father, though, when he gets here a little later."

"You going to let him see the boy tonight?" the doctor asked, sounding a bit surprised.

The sheriff grinned. "Have I ever?"

A smile spread across the big man's face. "Nope, but I thought you might have been going soft in your old age."

Oakes just chuckled as he led the man towards the lone occupant of the Sheila Flats jail.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank had almost dozed off when he heard the two men coming down the short hallway. He opened his eyes and glanced at them but gave no other indication of being very interested.

"Doctor's here, son," Sheriff Oakes told him, and the eighteen-year-old hid his shock at seeing the size of the man who dwarfed the lawman. He shook his head and snorted:

"Gland problems, huh?"

The doctor's face darkened and the sheriff just shook his head. "And no manners to boot. I think the wrong brother went over that bridge."

Stifling an almost immediate retort, Frank shrugged and said nonchalantly as Oakes unlocked the cell and let the doctor in, "Find him yet?"

"Nope," the lawman said, equally indifferent, "Don't 'spect we will. That river has a nasty habit of keeping whatever it takes."

A chill ran down Frank's spine but he hastily brushed away the dark thoughts that crowded his mind. '_Joe is all right'_, he silently insisted.

"If you'll excuse us, Tom," the doctor said, addressing the sheriff, "I'll take a look at this young man's hand and then be on my way. It shouldn't take very long."

"Holler when you're done," the sheriff said, and then fixed the teen with a stern look as he was leaving. "And you be nice to the doctor, son."

After the red-haired man had disappeared back into his office, Dr. Meredith smiled at Frank, "Okay now, let me take a look at your hand."

"Sorry about the gland comment," the teen said after a moment. Although it was part of the tough guy cover Frank was using on Oakes, he still didn't like saying it.

"Ah, that's okay," the doctor said, brushing off the apology.

"You know the sheriff long?" Frank asked after a moment as the man eyed his bruised hand. He was fishing to see if the doctor might be involved in all this.

"Long enough," the big man grunted as he turned around and opened his black bag. "Busted your hand on your brother, I'd assume?"

Frank just nodded.

"That boy musta had a pretty hard jaw," Hiram continued as he brought out some antiseptic spray, sprayed it lightly over the knuckles and then proceeded to wrap them loosely in a white bandage. A definite case of overkill, Frank thought, but he never commented on that.

"Something like that," he just said.

"Well I'm all done," Dr. Meredith said, straightening up and away from the teen.

"Thank you," Frank said, glancing down at the white bandage and then up at the doctor.

The man gave him a small smile as he picked up his black bag. He looked towards the hallway and then back at Frank. "Look kid, just take it easy on the sheriff, okay? Don't give him any trouble and he'll take care of you nicely, got it?"

"What do you mean 'he'll take care of me nicely'?" Frank asked warily.

"I mean," the doctor said, leaning over and lowering his voice, "if you want this all to go away, he's the man who can make that happen." And then moving away from Frank, the doctor yelled, "TOM! I'm done in here!"

The sheriff immediately returned and let his friend out. Frank watched them leave, a thoughtful look on his face._ So the doctor did know what his friend was doing…_

Shaking his head at how blatantly corrupt this place was, the teen lay back down on the bunk and let out a weary sigh. He'd had enough of it here now.

'_At least Joe has some magazines to read,'_ he thought, thinking of how well they'd stocked the small shack_, 'and snacks._' Smiling, he amended, _'well he would have had snacks, but I'm sure they were the first thing to go when he got there!'_

Resigned to a long bout of waiting, Frank closed his eyes._ 'I shoulda just let Joe kill me after all…it would have saved me from being bored to death!'_

He wondered for a few moments about what his brother was doing at this exact moment and then gave up, deciding that whatever it was, it would certainly be more fun than he was having right now!


	5. Chapter 5

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 5**

As Fenton drove into the small town of Shelia Flats his handsome face was set in a worried frown. He had scoured the area around the riverbank and the shack and had ascertained where someone – presumably Joe – had come out of the river and gone to the shack.

Joe had then obviously gone back down to the road where the truck was parked for some reason, and that is when things got worrisome. The internationally known investigator had found two more sets of tracks, indicating that Joe had met up with someone, and now neither him nor the truck were anywhere in sight.

Fenton did realize there could be a very good explanation for this, depending on what had actually happened this morning, but until he could talk to Frank, he wasn't about to dismiss anything. So instead he headed towards the town two hours ahead of schedule. With Joe possibly missing, the sleuth wasn't willing to wait it out.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sheriff Oakes heard a truck pull up outside his office and frowned when he saw a tall dark-haired man get out of the silver Lincoln Navigator. The man carried himself with a distinguished confidence and the lawman was positive that this was Fenton Hardy.

"Damn," he scowled, "He's early." As in the past, the sheriff was intending not to be at the office when the distraught father showed up, forcing him to wait until morning to see his son. He had found this made the parent much more amenable to his terms.

Mr. Hardy showing up early had tossed a kink in the plan. His deputy, Miles Parson, was still conducting the search for the teen's body and wasn't due to come back to the office for another hour, giving Oakes ample time to be unavailable.

Quickly amending his usual tactics, the sheriff grabbed his hat and went outside to meet the other man.

"Fenton Hardy I presume," he said in greeting, extending his hand and noting the strength of the returned hand shake. "I'm Sheriff Oakes, we spoke on the phone."

"Sheriff," Fenton greeted cordially and then cut right to the chase. "I'd like to see my son now, if that's possible."

Oakes ignored his request for a moment as he pulled out a cigar and lit it, making no move to go back inside. He inhaled and then let the smoke out slowly as he regarded the renowned investigator. The man looked to be about his age, but with dark hair and dark eyes. His clothes, though casual, spoke of quality and good taste as did the simple gold band on his wedding-ring finger and the unadorned gold watch on his wrist. Fenton exemplified the term 'ruggedly handsome,' and the sheriff wondered what his wife looked like. Probably beautiful and blond, he surmised, thinking of the younger boy. He had seen Joe in town with Frank yesterday and had not been oblivious to the appreciative glances the ladies had given the brothers.

"Frank takes after you," the lawman said casually, "I am assuming then, that your other son, Joseph, takes – took after your wife. So far we've had no luck in finding him." He saw the muscle in Fenton's jaw twitch as the man just nodded and spoke briefly:

"He did." Fenton held his gaze easily and Oakes fought to keep from looking away. It was if the man could look right into his soul…

"I would really like to see my son—" the investigator repeated, this time a hint of impatience clipped his tone, "now."

"Of course, of course," the sheriff placated and then sighed, "but I'm sorry, I can't let you do that right now."

"What are you talking about?" Irritation replaced the impatience as Fenton's gaze turned less friendly. "I've had my pilot press every ounce out of the engines to get here as quickly as I could – hell, he cut two hours off the flying time. And now you're telling me I can't see my son?"

Oakes held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Whoa, settle down." He sighed again, "Look, I appreciate where you are coming from. Honestly I do. If it was one of my kids, I'd feel the same way. However, as much as it pains me, I do have to respect the rights of the accused, and right now Frank is saying he doesn't want to see you. Now maybe—"

"Excuse me?" Fenton interrupted, incredulously, "Frank doesn't want to see me?"

"No, I'm sorry he doesn't," the sheriff put as much apologetic inflection in his tone as possible. "I'm not sure why, but he was pretty adamant about it. And as he isn't a minor, I do have to respect his wishes."

Fenton was stunned and outraged. _'You lying piece of crap,'_ he thought, struggling to keep from reaching out and throttling the lawman. Oakes was trying to keep him from seeing his son and his concern about something going wrong this morning grew.

"So why don't you go and get a room at the motel? Rest up and I'll work on him a bit. I'm sure he'll see you in the morning. I just think it's finally hitting him what he did, and he just doesn't want to face you yet. Killing your brother isn't something anyone can take lightly – even if they didn't get along," the sheriff was saying.

"That isn't acceptable to me," the detective said. If things were a bit different, he would play along with this charade but now he couldn't afford to wait. He had to find out from Frank if they had changed the plan.

When the sheriff looked at him in surprise, Fenton laid it out and hoped Oakes was truly as greedy as suspected, "Look I want to see my son and I want to see him now. And I'm willing to do anything—" he held the lawman's gaze and tilted his head to make sure there was no misunderstanding, "or pay anything to do so. This is my boy we're talking about. Even for just a few minutes, that's all I'm asking. A few minutes with Frank and then I'll disappear until morning."

Oakes sucked on his cigar, his blue eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Am I hearing you right, Hardy? Attempting to bribe a lawman is a serious thing…"

"And so is being my son's father," the Bayport detective responded, his own gaze somber and equally shrewd.

The sheriff rubbed at his chin and seemed to give what Fenton was saying some serious thought. He tore off the lighted end of the cigar, stubbed it out on the ground and then slowly nodded as he slipped what was left of it into his pocket, "What kind of money we talking about?"

"Five hundred," Fenton said easily, "For fifteen minutes." He took out his wallet and peeled off five from a sizeable stack. He took some satisfaction in the way Oakes' eyes seemed to light up at the sight of the cash.

Without saying anything, the sheriff took the offered bills, stuffed them into his wallet and then opened the office door. "Fifteen minutes and not one minute more," he said as he led he way inside.

"Thank you," Fenton said, not having to fake the gratitude in his voice. Finally – he might get some answers!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank awoke with a start from a restless doze when he heard the door open again. Glancing up, he quickly sat up on the cot, relief flooding him when he saw his father come down the hall with the sheriff.

"I told him that you didn't want to see him," Oakes said; a warning look in the gaze he fixed Frank with. "But he can be a rather persuasive man. You have fifteen minutes."

"Thanks again," Fenton said to the lawman. Oakes grunted something in response and then left the holding area. The Hardys waited until he was on the other side of the door before saying anything. Conscious that the cell might be bugged, they restrained themselves from any outward show of affection, but one look at the concern and compassion in his father's eyes were all that Frank needed.

Fenton sat down on the cot next to him and glanced around. "Not bad," he said, "all things considered."

"Well, I'm alone," Frank agreed, "that's something, anyway." And then he asked the question that had been burning at him since the bridge: "How's everything at the shack?" They both knew he was asking how his brother was.

"Depends," Fenton said, his dark brown eyes conveying something else – a question, "Was there any change in the plans?"

Frank felt a tendril of fear knot his stomach. Something was wrong. "No," he said slowly, "no changes at all."

"Then—" Fenton said slowly, "we have a problem. Turns out no one showed up for snacks."

The teen paled, knowing exactly what his father was saying…Joe was missing!

'_Oh God_,' he thought, '_the river!_'

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sheriff Oakes sat down at his desk and smiled. Five hundred smackeroos! Not a bad haul…not a bad haul, indeed!

His smile broadened as he could easily imagine what the illustrious investigator would pay to make these charges go away, if he was willing to put out that kind of dough for fifteen minutes with his son. '_People like you make me sick'_, he thought, silently addressing Fenton. '_You think your money can buy anything._' And then he chuckled and added, _'of course in this case…you're right!'_

Setting the time on his watch, he got up to put a fresh pot of coffee on, when the phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he went back to his desk and picked it up. "Sheila Flats Sheriff's Office…"

Listening tersely to the voice on the other end of the phone, the sheriff barked "I'll take care of it," and slammed the receiver down.

"Damnit," he muttered, "he couldn't have waited until tomorrow to be found, could he?" He toyed briefly with the idea of continuing the façade for Hardy until the morning when he could get his payoff, but then dismissed the idea right away.

If Fenton Hardy was anyone else he would, but he couldn't take the chance of the investigator turning the tables on him about this. So slightly un-aggrieved by the money in his wallet, Oakes went back to the jail cell. He had charges to drop.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Fenton and Frank looked up when they saw the sheriff came back so soon.

"I had fifteen minutes," the investigator started to protest but the other man cut him off.

"Relax, don't get your knickers in a knot." He unlocked the jail cell door and swung it wide open. "You're free to go," he said to Frank.

"What?" the teen asked, confused. He looked at his father but Fenton just shrugged with no more clue about this than he had.

"All charges have been dropped," the sheriff explained and then shrugged, "It would seem that your brother survived our bad old river and took off to Sheila Falls, a town about an hour from here—"

Both Frank and Fenton exchanged relieved looks until the sheriff continued…

"—and ran into some trouble with the local boys there. He got a knife in the back for his trouble—"

Frank felt all the blood drain from his face….

"He might not have been dead before, son," the sheriff fixed Frank with an unreadable look, "but he is now."


	6. Chapter 6

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 6**

Neither Hardy said anything as they drove in silence towards Sheila Falls. Frank noticed his father was heavier footed than usual, but never commented as he felt the same urgency and disbelief pressing down on him – _Joe was dead?_

There were too many questions that neither had an answer for. The foremost being: what had happened? Joe was supposed to wait at the shack for his father. What went wrong? And did the other footprints Fenton saw on the road have anything to do with it?

Frank glanced down at his bandaged knuckles and then out the window as a wave of pain crashed through his soul.

As if knowing exactly what his son was feeling, Fenton said softly, "We don't know it's true yet Frank. It might not be Joe."

"I know," the teen admitted, still staring out at the blurring scenery, "but still—" he glanced across at his father briefly, "something did happen. We both know that. Why else would Joe not be there?" Sighing, he plucked at the bandage. "I just wish we knew what that was – where he is…"

"So do I, son," Fenton said, "so do I."

After what seemed like an eternity, Fenton pulled the SUV up in front of a small, white clapboard hospital. Turning the vehicle off, he undid his seatbelt and hurried towards the building; Frank fell in step beside him.

Fenton's heart was pounding as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping that there had been some sort of mistake; not even wanting to remotely consider that it might be true. Right now he needed to keep it together for both himself and Frank, having picked up on his son's turbulent emotions. Frank wouldn't believe that Joe was dead until he saw it for himself; however, that would not stop the boy from tormenting himself with the very possibility.

An older woman in a white uniform sat behind an old desk, and she looked up and smiled at the Hardys as they crossed the floor towards her. The hospital wasn't very big or busy and Frank and Fenton were the only other ones there, besides her, at the moment.

"Good afternoon," the detective greeted with a tight smile, "My name is Fenton Hardy and—"

"Oh dear, yes, I've been expecting you." The woman's wrinkled face softened with compassion as she recognized the name as the one belonging to the young man lying so still in the basement morgue. "I'll let the caretaker know you're here." She lifted the phone, pressed a button and then spoke softly into the receiver. After a moment she hung up and then motioned towards the row of hard plastic chairs behind them. "If you'd please take a seat, Mr. Montrose will be right with you."

Reluctantly they did as they were bid. They sat and waited. Not very patiently, though.

Finally, a tall thin man with a receding hairline and hawk-nose came into the waiting room. He glanced around, saw Fenton and Frank, and hurried towards them, his hand extended in greeting.

"Good afternoon, I'm Peter Montrose, the hospital administrator."

"Fenton Hardy," the sleuth introduced himself and then Frank, "and this is my older son, Frank."

"Frank. Fenton," the man acknowledged with a ghost of a smile, "if you're ready I'll take you to the morgue now so you can make a positive ID on the body." As they started down the hall, the man continued, "My staff did the best they could for your son but his injuries were beyond our capabilities and he bled out before we could transport him to a larger facility."

Neither Hardy made any comment though they both paled at the man's bluntness.

A middle-aged man with a kind-looking face, dressed in a dark brown uniform, met them outside the morgue and introduced himself as Deputy Blake Hilroy. His face was solemn as he pushed open the door and then held it for the other three men.

Wordlessly, Mr. Montrose led them to a small table on which a covered body lay. He stood by the head of the white sheet and looked at Fenton and Frank as the detective placed an arm around his son's shoulders. "Are you ready?"

Two nods later, he quickly pulled the sheet back and waited.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Cletus and Norton had not been too happy when they realized Joe only had $200.00 in his savings account.

"What the hell?" Cletus had yelled, backhanding Joe and knocking him against the side the truck. Around them the small town street was deserted, taking away any hope the Bayport teen had of someone helping him.

"Two hundred lousy dollars!" He grabbed Joe and pulled him towards the back of the truck. Joe struggled but the sound of a hammer being cocked stilled his protests as Norton held the shotgun on him.

"That's it!" the incensed kidnapper snarled, "kiss breathing good-bye, because the next bridge we come across, you're going over!" And then before Joe could brace himself, Cletus snatched the gun from Norton and clubbed him across the back of the head again. He lost consciousness as he was being dumped unceremoniously in the back.

Cletus was furious as he snatched up a thin piece of rope; he quickly bound the boy's hands behind his back, shoved an old rag in his mouth, and then slammed the trunk closed. When he turned around, Norton was squirming back and forth next to him.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded heatedly.

"I gotta pee!"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Cletus growled, "Fine. Get back in the truck; we'll stop at a gas station on our way out of town. You can 'pee' there, you girl."

"What are you calling me a girl for?" Norton demanded, letting Cletus drive this time, as he hopped into the front passenger seat.

"Cause only girls pee you wuss…men piss!" Slamming the truck into gear, Cletus pulled away from the gas station.

Ten minutes later, they stopped to fill up the truck and let Norton go to the bathroom. Cletus kept a constant watch, alert to trouble or the police…and a few minutes later, he saw trouble in the form of a blond-haired punk who went into the bathroom after Norton.

As Cletus paid for the gas, he saw the punk come back out but there was no sign of Norton. Frowning, the kidnapper scowled as he watched the guy walk away. '_What the hell is he doing with Norton's clothes?'_

Rolling his eyes at having to go and rescue his 'partner' yet again, Cletus stalked into the bathroom and saw a red-faced Norton standing in his underwear.

"What happened this time?" he asked, giving his jacket to his shivering friend to wear.

"That guy just robbed me! And took my clothes!" Norton cried out indignantly. He pointed to the discarded outfit on the floor, "And I am NOT wearing that!"

"Why'd he take your clothes?" Cletus asked, shaking his head at the bizarre theft.

"'Cause they were nicer than his stuff, duh."

'O_f course…that made sense to Norton'_, Cletus mused, '_since he'd done pretty much the exact same thing to their 'excess baggage'!'_ Well…except they hadn't taken the clothes right off Joe's body. He eyed his semi-nude friend and amended, '_yet.'_

"Um…Cletus," Norton said tentatively as he slid into the front seat of the truck, hissing when the leather seat covers stuck against his bare legs, "Two things…"

"What?" his friend asked, starting up the truck and pulling away from the pump.

"Well, first I need some clothes and second, that guy took our new bank card…"

Cletus would have killed Norton right on the spot if he wasn't family – his mom's cousin's wife's second son by her third marriage, to be exact. But you can't kill family….No matter how stupid or annoying they were. So he took a deep breath, counted to ten, never asked Norton why he had taken the bank card with him in the first place, and went on the hunt. He had a punk to find.

Finding the punk turned out to be pretty simple but deciding what to do with him had not been. Cletus restrained himself from shooting the kid – knowing the sound would attract unwanted attention.

So instead, he waited until the clerk – in the small mini-mart the punk was in – went into the backroom for something; pulled out the large hunting knife that dangled from his belt, walked up behind the thief and stabbed him in the back, twisting the blade for good and lethal measure.

Turning around he walked out, got in the truck and never said a word to Norton about it. And he never bothered to retrieve the bank card either – the account was empty…its usefulness fulfilled.

"Clothes?" Norton asked as they drove past a small thrift store.

"I got it figured out," Cletus assured him, feeling much calmer now. Killing someone always had had a soothing affect on him. And he did have it figured out.

It was easy enough. Norton would just have to be happy with a damp shirt and pants because Joe Hardy wasn't going to have much more use for his….

Humming to himself, Cletus drove back towards Sheila Bridge.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank felt his heart lurch into his throat and thought he was going to be sick as the first thing he noticed was the clothes. He recognized Joe's sweater and dark brown cords. Beside him, he heard his father gasp and reluctantly forced his gaze to the face – and then he felt a surge of relief and sagged against the older man! It was NOT Joe!

"Oh thank God," he heard Fenton mutter as his dad gave his shoulders a tight squeeze before letting go and turning towards the officer.

"This is not my son," the detective said. "This is not Joe Hardy."

Mr. Montrose kept the sheet down as he walked over to a small cubicle and pulled out a small baggie. Inside was a bank card. He looked at the deputy who nodded and then passed the baggie to Fenton. "This was the only ID found on him so we assumed it was your son. I'm very sorry about all this."

"I'm not," the detective said as he eyed the card with the familiar signature on the back. He now had proof that Joe was in some sort of trouble, most likely having been grabbed after he got out of the river. But before he could say anything, Deputy Hilroy cleared his throat.

"So what we got," Hilroy started as he took the card from Fenton, "is a John Doe that somehow got his hands on your boy's wallet." He looked at the administrator. "If you can excuse us for a few minutes Peter, I need to talk to Mr. Hardy and his son….Official business."

The other man nodded curtly, and left.

The deputy ran a hand through his hair and continued, "From what I've heard, Frank here—" he glanced at the teen, "pushed his brother over the Sheila Bridge and was arrested by Tom Oakes for _murder_…a bit of a stretch…manslaughter, reasonably. Now, best I can say is that this here boy – though I don't recognize him as being local – found your son's body and took the wallet off him—" Frank just felt sick as the lawman continued talking, "—meaning that your older boy, here, is still accountable on Oakes' charges. However—" Hilroy fixed Fenton with a keen look, "I don't for one moment think he killed or even tried to kill his brother….I suspect that there is something more going on – something that involves you needing to get one of your boys in Oakes' jail…and I am _very _curious as to what that might be."

When Fenton looked about to protest, Deputy Hilroy shook his head as he chuckled, "Mr. Hardy, I am not exactly a local yokel. I've been following your career since you were a Detective Lieutenant in New York City. You might say I'm quite a fan—" his face broke in a grin as the sleuth blushed slightly, "and I've heard of your sons – chips off the old block, is what they say – so I can't, for even a second, believe one would outrightly do anything as malicious as what Sheriff Oakes has proposed. Now…while I do know Tom and his family personally, I also know that he is one lawman who shames the privilege of his office, and if you are working in any way to expose that, then I would like to help if at all possible." He paused and then shrugged, "But it is really up to you."

Frank wished he could read minds at that exact moment, as he glanced at his father's face, unable to figure out what Fenton was thinking. It was much easier with Joe for some reason. He could usually tell exactly what his brother was thinking, sometimes… unfortunately.

Finally Fenton gave a slow nod. He looked at Frank. "We need some help on this…for Joe's sake." Exhaling loudly, he indicated the body on the table. "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Deputy Hilroy nodded. "I'll have Peter take care of this kid. Come on, you guys look like you could use a cup of coffee."

"Make it to go," Fenton commented grimly, following Frank and the deputy out of the morgue, "I have a son to find."


	7. Chapter 7

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 7**

Joe felt the truck begin to slow down and his mind raced to formulate an escape plan – any escape plan. Unfortunately he wasn't coming up with much. His head was pounding so badly that every motion of the moving truck was painfully jarring and made him nauseous; the taste of the horrible rag in his mouth was not helping!

His hands were completely numb from being tied so tightly and the exhausted teen felt as weak as a day-old kitten. '_Least I'm dry now,'_ he mused as he closed his eyes – even thinking hurt! But then, remembering their plans to toss him off the next bridge, Joe amended his thought, '_for a few minutes anyway._' He had no delusions. With his hands tied like this, and numb, there was no way he'd survive another dunking in the Sheila River. He'd had enough of a task to do so earlier!

The truck came to a sudden stop and Joe heard his captors get out of the vehicle. He waited, expecting the back door to open at any moment but it didn't. Instead he heard muffled voices – laughter? – and then the doors opened again, slammed shut and the truck was lurched into drive and tore away, tires kicking up gravel in its haste.

Groaning as the momentum slammed him against the back door, Joe wondered what was up, but could do nothing…nothing except wait and hope.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"I know this guy," Deputy Hilroy said as he and the Hardys viewed the video from the bank machine security camera. A telephone call to the Bayport bank had given Fenton the location of the last activity on Joe's account. An alarming activity – apparently Joe had withdrawn the total amount in his savings a couple of hours earlier, at the Sheila Falls instant teller.

The deputy had immediately called the bank about the video camera with the hopes of verifying whether or not it had been Joe. And it had been…curiously barefooted, but definitely Fenton's younger son.

Frank had let out a heavy sigh of relief, all doubts erased about whether or not Joe had drowned. But his relief was very short-lived as they still had no idea where his brother was.

"His name is Cletus Baggs." The lawman looked at Fenton. "And this is NOT a good thing."

"Tell me," the detective demanded; the muscle in his jaw twitched as he took in the information.

"Cletus is a cold blooded killer, wanted on three counts of murder when he and his partner, Norton Winthrop, a relative by some obscure reasoning, held up a liquor store two counties over. He got the cash, Norton got the booze and then Cletus shot and killed the two clerks and their customer on his way out. There was no reason for him to do it. But he did," Hilroy's voice was grave, "and that's just what we have proof of. He's also believed to be responsible for a couple of random killings – shootings – and now, most recently this mini-mart stabbing. I really wish we'd gotten _that _on camera! Unfortunately there's still a lot of small town trust in too many places."

Fenton and Frank exchanged a worried look even as the sleuth added, "And now he has my son."

A sympathetic look crossed the deputy's face as he slowly nodded, "Yeah, he does. And to be blunt, Mr. Hardy, once your son's usefulness has been fulfilled, Cletus will kill him."

"Well…then we had better find them, hadn't we?" Frank said, even more anxious for Joe now…if that was possible! It was nice to see the face of his brother's abductor – or one of them anyway – but that still did not put them any closer to finding Joe, and the older boy felt too much time had been wasted already. "Can we go now?"

As the deputy thanked the bank manager for showing them the video, he followed the Hardys outside. The evening was still bright, but dark clouds overhead drearily forecast an impending rainstorm.

Frank's stomach growled as he moved towards his father's rental truck. He couldn't remember the last time he ate, with coffee and worry being the only things keeping him going right now.

"Hopefully someone will catch sight of the stolen rental," Hilroy said as he followed. His own vehicle was parked close by. After finding out why the Hardys were investigating Sheriff Oakes, the incensed lawman had vowed to help in any way he could. "Until then, I'd say we—" He stopped when the cell phone he was carrying buzzed. Checking the number, he excused himself for a moment to answer it.

When he came back two minutes later, he had a stunned look on his face. "You are not going to believe this," he told Frank and Fenton, "but Cletus and Norton have just been picked up!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Look at that, Cletus!" Norton's voice crowed in his ear, excitedly, as he pointed his finger out the front windshield, "now there's something you don't see every day!"

Cletus shoved his hand out of the way and started to slow down.

"We can't _not_ stop," Norton continued, "no part of my gentlemanly self can consciously let you drive on by _that_!"

"I don't think it's your 'gentlemanly self' you're thinking of," Cletus commented and then grinned, "however…"

Slamming on the brakes, he brought the truck to a stop beside a pretty young red-haired girl standing beside a car with an obviously flat tire. The girl was about eighteen or nineteen, and dressed in a tight-fitting t-shirt and very short shorts. _'Nope'_, Cletus thought, '_no red-blooded male could pass her by!'_ Glancing at Norton, the dark-haired killer could only grin as he realized the other man had completely forgotten he was only wearing his underwear and Cletus's jacket. Oh, and his shoes and socks of course!

Norton was out of the truck like a shot, Cletus following a little bit slower. He had started to reach for the shotgun but then changed his mind. She was only one pretty little girl….

"Well, well," Norton turned on the charm, "and what is something as fine as you doing out here all by your lonesome?" He looked at her car, "Awww, did your mean ol' car breaky-wakey down on you?"

The girl batted long, black lashes at him and purred, "Something like that—" and then the sound of someone moving behind them made both men whirl around.

'_A trap!'_ Cletus realized too late, as he saw another long-legged beauty with black hair and cold eyes standing behind them with a rifle pointed right at – Cletus looked down – right at his 'pride and joy'!

"Toss the keys to yer truck to me, nice and easy," the black-haired beauty told him. "Nothing funny or you'll be squatting to pee for the rest of your life!"

"See," Cletus muttered to his white-faced friend as he did as he was told, "told you girls 'pee'."

Norton nodded, too terrified by this sudden turn of events to say anything.

The gun-toting girl scooped up the keys, keeping careful aim on the boys with the rifle. She passed them to her red-headed friend and then chuckled, "Oh my…you boys are a sorry lot, aren't you?" She blew a kiss to Norton, "Hope you didn't get all undressed on our accounts!" and then, laughing, she raced around to the side of the truck and jumped into the passenger seat as the red-head started the engine and roared away.

Norton looked down at himself in horrified embarrassment. With nothing else he could do, he zipped up the coat and looked at Cletus. "Now what?"

Cletus turned to face his cousin, by some obscure reasoning, "Norton, do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure Cletus, anything!" Norton offered helpfully.

"Don't talk to me, okay, just don't say a word!" Kicking at the gravel on the road in frustration, Cletus started to stalk away.

"What'd I do?" Norton mumbled as he followed the other man…at a safe distance.

They hadn't walked very far when Norton heard a car approaching from behind. He turned around and gasped, "CLETUS!"

"Shut up, Norton."

"CLETUS!"

"I told you to shut up!"

"But—"

Incensed, Cletus whirled around and then froze as the deputy car pulled up behind them.

Closing his eyes, the man just shook his head. He now regretted ever meeting Joe Hardy, swearing he'd never had a string of luck like this before they grabbed that kid!

And then he couldn't help but smile, wondering if the girls had found the 'parcel' yet….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"And Joe?" Fenton asked anxiously as both he and Frank crowded the lawman.

"I'm sorry," Hilroy said, and they knew he was, "the boys were picked up walking alongside the roadway. As of yet, we don't know where the stolen truck is or anything about your son."

"Where were they?" Frank asked; his heart hammering as he refused to believe the obvious – that they'd killed his brother and then dumped his body and the truck.

"That's the odd thing," the deputy admitted, "they were on a side road heading back towards Sheila Flats – a couple of miles north of the Sheila Bridge actually…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe had no idea what was going on, or whether or not he was imaging things, but he could have sworn it was two girls' voices he was hearing. _Where were Cletus and Norton?_

The truck seemed to drive forever before it was stopped and the boy heard the doors opened again. A few moments later the back door was opened and the teen blinked up in surprise, although it was harder to say who was more surprised…Joe or the two girls!

"Oh my," started the red-head.

"What do we have here?" finished the brunette.

Joe had no idea if things had just gotten better…or worse.


	8. Chapter 8

Shameless plug, but if you love Frank and Joe, check out for some of the best Hardy Boys fan fiction on the web at the Hardydetectiveagency dot com! Trust me, you will not be sorry! Phoenix

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 8**

Cletus Baggs looked at the three men standing in front of him. Well, two men and a kid – looked about eighteen or nineteen years old.

"This is Fenton Hardy," one of the men, a lawman introduced, "and his son, Frank. I believe you've already met his other son – Joe. I'm Deputy Hilroy and we have some questions for you."

"Can't say I know no Joe Hardy," the arrested man said as he sat back in his chair and took a good long look at Joe's family. He was surprised to find that this was Joe's father and brother – the boy looked nothing like them. He scrutinized the brother a bit harder…well maybe he looked a bit like the kid, but not in an obvious way.

"That line's not going to fly," Hilroy said, "not only do we have surveillance footage of you with Joe at the bank machine, but you were carrying his driver's license in your pocket when you were picked up. Care to explain how you came to get that?"

"Sure," Cletus said, his dark eyes flitting from Fenton's to Frank's so he could see the impact of his words. "I took it off his dead body."

"His dead body?" the deputy scoffed, ignoring the sharp intake of breaths from the Hardys standing behind him. "And just who killed him Cletus?"

Without batting an eye, the kidnapper smirked, "Norton."

:O

"WHAT?" Norton's eyes actually bugged out on his cheeks as his voice rang with shock, "he said I did _what?_"

"He said that you killed Joe Hardy," Hilroy said, as the interrogation had moved to the room next door, where a white-faced Norton, finally clad in a spare set of shirt and pants, was almost hyperventilating.

"I – he…NO!"

"Norton, you're not making sense." If Frank didn't feel so heartsick that these yahoos might have actually killed his brother, he would have enjoyed the exaggerated behavior of the blond-haired kidnapper.

"He – no! Me?" Norton shook his head vehemently and then without warning, leaned forward and put his head between his legs. "I – I think I'm going to be s-sick!"

Deputy Hilroy shook his head. "Cut the crap, Norton. We know you were with Cletus when he shot those three people in the liquor store…in cold blood. So put away this sissy act and 'fess up – did you or did you not kill Joe Hardy?"

Norton raised his head and looked at each of the three men in the small room before his eyes caught and held the gaze of Fenton Hardy. He shook his head. "May God strike me down right where I sit – but I am telling you the truth. I never so much as laid a hand on that boy…" he looked at the lawman, "Now...Cletus! That's another story!"

:O

"Where is my son?" Fenton Hardy yelled as he grabbed Cletus Baggs by the shirt, dragged him out of the chair and slammed him against the wall. "I am sick and tired of this back and forth crap – now what the hell did you do with him?"

Cletus turned towards the deputy but Blake Hilroy just shrugged. "You didn't want to talk to me. Maybe Mr. Hardy will be able to persuade you where I can't."

"This isn't legal!" the killer protested, trying to shove Fenton away, but unable to break the hold of the more powerful man.

Hilroy came to stand behind Fenton; he looked at Cletus and spoke, his voice low and threatening: "I don't give two hoots about a cowardly, cold-blooded killer like you. He can slam your head through that wall for all I care – what I do care about is the whereabouts of his son. You tell me what you did with that boy or else I'm walking out of this room right now…and Hardy can do whatever the hell he wants with you. And that's a lot more mercy than you've ever shown anyone…." He paused and implored one final time, "Cletus, we're talking about a seventeen-year-old kid here – where is he?"

"I don't know!" the killer protested, looking at Fenton earnestly, "Honestly…I don't know. Look, the truck got stolen from us with the kid still in the back!"

"Stolen, what do you mean?" the investigator demanded, shaking the younger man for good measure.

"I mean what I said," Cletus asserted, finally shoving Fenton off him and making a vague attempt to straighten out his shirt. "We pulled over to help someone with a flat and they pulled a gun on us."

"They?" Deputy Hilroy asked, trading a concerned look with Frank who was standing by the door watching this play out, "Who were 'they'?"

"I dunno," Cletus admitted, paused and then added, "But they sure as hell were cute…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Well, well, I think Christmas has come a little early this year," the dark haired girl said as she quickly appraised the blond prize lying bundled in the back of the truck.

Joe looked up at her and tried to say something but the rag muffled his voice. His head was still pounding but he felt a surge of hope that these girls might help him. But his hope was dwindling as they made no moves to release him.

The red-haired girl shook her head, her pretty face marred with a scowl. "I took those guys for being twisted, I just never realized just how twisted they were—" she paused and then added, "unless of course this sweet little package likes to play this way."

Joe managed to shake his head, closing his eyes as he did so. _Damn, his head was pounding!_ He started when the rag was gently tugged out of his mouth, and opened his eyes to see the red-head crouched down and looking at him intently, flinching when her hand reached out and touched his tender jaw.

"H-help…me," he gasped, his voice raspy, his throat dry from thirst. He licked at his lip, sore from Cletus' backhand.

The girl looked up at her friend, an unasked question on her face. The brunette looked at Joe and hesitated. "I dunno, Betty-Ann—"

"He's hurting, April-May, those bastards roughed him up. Look at him!" the red-head implored, obviously the more tenderhearted of the two.

"I can see that," April-May admitted, "But Betty-Ann we don't have no time for trouble and look at him – he's got trouble just about tattooed to his forehead!"

"Please…" Joe tried again, his blue eyes eloquent and beseeching, "no trouble…just let me go."

The two girls, traded glances again and finally the brunette, April-May, sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay…I tell you what. We're going to untie you and let you out of the truck, but that's it. Then we're gone. You never saw us and you're responsible for whatever happens after that, got it?"

Gingerly, Joe nodded his head, relief sweeping over him that this whole mess was going to be finally over. He had no idea where he was, but anything was better than where he was now!

"Here," Betty-Ann said softly as she leaned over the teen, "let me get—" Suddenly her voice broke off and both girls whirled around as they heard a rapidly approaching vehicle.

"DAMN!" April-May yelled, "It's them! Get in the truck, Betty-Ann!"

Giving him one quick apologetic look, the red-head slammed the back door shut and hurried to the front passenger seat. Moments later the stolen truck was roaring away from the roadside as a loud boom of thunder echoed around them!

Within moments, as the truck raced down the dirt road with a small Chevy in hot pursuit, lightning flashed and the rain started; a few splatters at first but then it was pounding them in heavy sheets, obscuring visibility in the rapidly approaching darkness and making the gravel slippery under the heavy vehicle….

Joe could barely hear the girls yelling over the sound of the rain on the truck and the truck on the road. His heart pounded in his chest, as he could feel the vehicle swerving as they drove, accelerating madly. He had no idea what they were running from and didn't have the chance to ask.

Suddenly, he heard one of the girls scream! A horrible crunching sound! And then his stomach dropped as the truck was airborne for a few sickening moments before landing with a heavy splash!

_Splash?_ Jerking his head up, Joe realized with mounting horror that the truck had gone off a bridge and they were now slowly sinking in the Sheila River!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank and Fenton drove in silence. Ahead of them, Deputy Hilroy's jeep headlights cut through the heavy rain as they drove the dirt road between Sheila Falls and Sheila Flat. Cletus hadn't been any more help except to put them back on that road – it was the direction the girls had fled in – and having nothing else to go on, they retraced their steps.

Both were tired, exhausted emotionally and physically, but refused to give in. Joe was out there and they were determined to find him.

The deputy's wife had insisted on making them something to take with them to eat, but as Frank stared out the front windshield, the sandwich he had eaten sat heavily in his stomach and he now regretted having it. His worry – and frustration – were increasing with each passing hour. '_Where are you little brother?'_ he wondered as he sighed and rubbed his eyes, _'come on kiddo, give us something to go on here…'_ His thoughts were interrupted when the deputy's jeep in front of them slowed down and then stopped. Fenton did the same with the rented SUV.

As the teen watched, he saw Hilroy get out of his vehicle and trot towards them. The man didn't seem to notice the rain.

Fenton rolled down his window but before he could ask, the lawman said, "I just got a call. Your son's rental truck's been found—" He paused briefly. "he wasn't in it."

"Where is it?" the detective demanded, voicing the very question a breath from Frank's own lips.

Again the deputy hesitated. He looked at the Hardys regretfully. "I'm really sorry, Fenton...Frank. The truck went off Sheila Bridge…it's in the river."

Frank barely made it from the vehicle before his stomach rebelled…and the sandwich that had been sitting so heavily was no longer a problem at all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 9**

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Joe's body as, using his bare feet for leverage, he managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Twisting his head, he saw the two girls frantically trying to get out of their seats as the truck slowly started to sink.

And then with a loud click, first Betty-Anne and then April-May scrambled out of their seats, and to his mounting surprise, moved towards him!

"The back door!" the brunette yelled and reached past Joe for the latch; as she pulled on the handle, Joe swiveled his legs around and kicked at it – the back door swung open.

The two girls slid over the back seat and then as the cold, murky water started to fill the truck, grabbed Joe by his arms and pulled him out into the river with them!

Joe gasped as the cold water washed over him; choking and sputtering, he kicked his legs frantically, trying to stay afloat. The girls were trying to swim and keep a hold on him, but try as they did, the strong currents were threatening to suck them under.

The red-head looked at him apologetically and the teen knew in an instant they were going to let him go – and they did….

:O

The old Chevy car came to a halt on the bridge deck as two young men tore out of the vehicle and slid down the bank towards the river, oblivious to the torrential downpour that was drenching them. Both were in their late-twenties and similarly dressed in attire that screamed 'cowboy,' from their wide-brimmed hats to well worn boots.

"BETTY-ANN!" The first guy with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, yelled as he skidded to a halt next to the quickly swelling river. He peered anxiously out over the water towards the slowly sinking truck.

"Lookey, Duane! There! There they are!" the second man with black curly hair, pointed as he grabbed his friend's arm.

Duane spotted the girls floundering close to the bank, and pulling off his boots, hurried into the water to help them. As he did so he noticed a third person being pulled under by the savage current. "CLINT!" he yelled over his shoulder to his buddy, "GET A ROPE!"

Immediately Clint was scrambling back up the slippery bank and towards the car, having seen the same thing even as he muttered, "Who the hell is that?" He tore open the trunk and pulled out a length of heavy rope. Quickly making a lasso, he was back by the river just as Duane pulled April-May, first, and then Betty-Ann out of the cold water.

"Y-you g-gotta s-save him!" April-May gasped as her dark brown eyes held Clint's. The man nodded even as he started to swing the lasso above his head, shrewd hazel eyes fixed on the blond head barely visible amid the dark swirling water. In a few more seconds the kid would either be drowned or out of reach….The almost blinding rain beat on his face but he refused to even blink, even as he muttered:

"I didn't win the state cattle roping contest three years in a row for nothing, April-May." The rope flew through the air, thrown by a master, and snagged Joe just as he slipped beneath the water. Yanking hard, Clint started to pull the teenager towards shore; Duane rushed back into the water and together they hauled Joe up onto the bank.

:O

Joe kicked furiously to keep his head above the water but it was a losing battle, and the already weakened and exhausted teen couldn't keep going. As he felt the tug of the current pulling him under, one more time, something sailed over his head and around his shoulders before pulling painfully tight. He felt himself being towed towards shore and then pulled out by strong arms and dumped on the ground.

Blinking up at his rescuers, the boy barely registered the anxious faces of yet two more strangers, before his eyes slid closed and he was out….

:O

"He's dead!" April-May wailed in Duane's ear as he leaned over the unconscious youth and pressed two fingers against the pale throat. He let out a soft sigh of relief when he felt a pulse, steady and strong.

"He ain't dead," he denied, straightening up and fixing the girls with a withering look, "just tired out. Now would either of you like to explain this?" He gestured vaguely at Joe and the almost completely submerged truck.

"Ah…w-well…" Betty-Ann slid a slender arm around the cowboy's waist as she snuggled against him, shivering, "i-it's l-l-like—"

Clint cut her off as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around the shivering red-head. "We need to get them warmed up first, Duane. Time for talking's a bit later!" He knelt down beside Joe, and gently worked the lasso off him – he saw the boy's hands were bound and quickly pulled out a small knife and sliced the bindings. "I think I just came up with a whole slew of new ones Duane, let's get these popsicles in the car."

Between the two men, they managed to get Joe up the bank and towards their car. April-May rushed ahead, opened the doors and then slid into the front passenger seat as Duane and Clint got the unconscious kid into the back seat, where Duane and Betty-Ann sat with him.

Starting the car, Clint turned the heat up on bust and slowly drove off the bridge. The windshield wipers were almost useless, as the rain seemed to get harder and the black-haired man leaned into the steering wheel to see the dirt road.

"We'll get a room for the night at the Sheila Flats Motel." He glanced at the brunette shivering beside him. "And once you're all nice and warmed up again, I am looking very forward to finding out what the hell is going on here."

April-May gave a small nod and then glanced over her shoulder at the occupants of the backseat. "H-how's the k-kid?" she asked.

"Cold," came the one-word reply from Duane. Nothing else was said by anyone for the rest of the ride into town.


	10. Chapter 10

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 10**

Frank Hardy stood on the bridge deck and stared down at the swirling river. The rain pounded down on him but he was mindless to it. His heart was heavy as a numbness slowly settled over him – this couldn't be it. His brother could not be dead.

_Was it really only twelve hours ago that he and Joe had stood on this very bridge, joking and roughhousing as they waited for old Walter Miller to make his morning appearance?_

Flexing his still sore hand, the dark haired teen involuntarily flinched as once again the memory of the fight and his brother's subsequent flight over the railing assaulted him. He shivered but not from the cold – _was that to be the last memories of Joe he would ever have?_

"Frank?" The sound of his father's voice broke into his anguished musing, and the teen turned to look at him, sucking in a breath at the exhausted and pale face that confronted him; hardly the same self-assured, poised, confident man that the boy knew. "You okay?"

"I – I don't know," Frank admitted, "I feel kinda – well, sorta numb, I guess." He brushed the wet hair off his face, vaguely thinking he should go and wait in the truck. There wasn't anything he could do here right now. By the time he, his father and Deputy Hilroy arrived at Sheila Bridge, Sheriff Oakes, his deputy and a group of volunteers were already on the scene and had the submerged truck almost winched out of the river.

Frank's heart had started to pound as soon as he saw it, recognizing the rental he and Joe had gotten only two days ago. Sheriff Oakes had come up to him and Fenton right away and told them there was no sign of Joe or the girls.

Although to be honest, he had admitted, he didn't think there were any girls involved, and that Cletus and Norton had just made up the whole thing to cover the murder and dumping the body.

The corrupt lawman had just shaken his head and looked at Fenton. "Killing Joe is a rather popular sport today, ain't it? What's this? His third death in one day – kid's set a bloody record!" He had then grinned and walked away from the stunned Hardys.

When the shock wore off, an incensed Frank had started to go after the insensitive sheriff, but his father held him back. They didn't have time for this right now.

And Frank had been standing on the bridge and watching in silence ever since.

"I know son, it's the shock," Fenton sighed, his own dark hair plastered unflatteringly to his forehead. Like Frank, his clothes were soaked but he was oblivious to the discomfort.

"Do you—" the teen turned to look at his father, not sure he wanted to know the answer but asking the question anyway, "Do you think there really were any girls?"

Fenton looked at his exhausted – emotionally and physically – son, and heard the unasked question – _do you think my brother is still alive?_ – and he faltered, torn between head and heart.

"I – I want to believe…" the detective stumbled over his words as his dark brown eyes turned to the empty husk of a truck being jacked up on the back of a tow truck now, "I really do..."

Frank reached out and put a hand on his father's shoulder. Fenton sighed and looked at his son as he placed his own cold hand overtop of Frank's. "But it doesn't look very good."

"No, it doesn't," the teen agreed, his voice grave and grief-filled, but before either could say anything else Deputy Hilroy approached them.

"They're going to tow the truck into town," he told them, wiping the rain off his face with his hand. "You two might as well follow it. Get a room for the night – we can start again in the morning. The storm should have passed on by then…either way, we'll have better light."

"What?" Frank's voice was incredulous and the deputy held up his hand to stay any further argument.

"Look, I know you want to find your brother, but we can't do anything else tonight. With the Sheila rising faster than a drunk at a fermented bobbing for apples contest, it's too risky to continue searching right now." He looked at the two men and sighed. "We can get a start at first light. Get something to eat and try to sleep – collapsing from sheer exhaustion isn't going to help Joe one way or the other."

Fenton looked at his son and slowly nodded his head. He might not like it but the deputy was right.

"Come on, Frank," he said, gently guiding the teen away from the broken bridge railing. Frank resisted for a moment but then gave in, casting one more longing look towards the horrid river before silently getting into the truck.

"We get started first thing," he said to his father.

"First thing," Fenton agreed as he started the truck.

With the windshield wipers on maximum, the Bayport investigator slowly pulled away from Sheila Bridge and headed back towards the town. He and Frank could stay in the motel room that the boys had occupied the night before.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

April-May quickly unlocked the motel room and held the door open as Duane and Clint carefully maneuvered an unconscious Joe into the room.

"Grab the towels from the bathroom," Clint instructed, "lay them on the floor. We need to get this kid out of these wet clothes – he'll catch his death of cold like this!"

Betty-Ann laid two large white towels on the floor and watched as the men lowered the teenager down onto them. She shivered beneath Clint's jacket as she glanced at her friend anxiously. Similarly ensconced in Duane's jacket, April-May shared an equally worried glance.

"You girls go take a bath or something to get warmed up. I got us two rooms so you can each pick a bathroom. The old fella at the front desk said there's robes hanging on a hook on the back of the doors. We'll get this kid settled away while you're gone," Duane told them, already tossing the second key to the red-head. They waited until the girls were gone before they finished disrobing Joe and got him settled into one of the two beds in the small motel room; an unasked question hung over them at the sight of Joe's bare feet.

Shaking his head at the sound of April-May's out-of-tune voice as she sang in the shower, Clint appraised the unconscious stranger. "Looks like he's had a rough time of it," he commented, noting the abrasions on Joe's wrists, the bruise on his jaw, and the busted lip.

"Seems so," Duane agreed; he frowned as he sized up the pale face. "He don't look much older than seventeen or eighteen, though – he's just a kid." His gaze flickered towards the closed bathroom door. "You don't suppose…"

"I don't suppose…we'll know anything until the girls tell us something," Clint finished for him, not ready to make any speculations. "Until then I'm going to run to that little diner across the road, see if I can get some soup. We can try to get something into the kid too – it'll help warm him up."

"I wouldn't mind a sandwich and bowl of soup myself," Duane commented, as he grimaced and looked down at his soaked pants, "and grab my duffle bag out of the car on your way back, will you? I need some new pants. That coldness is a-creeping up in areas I don't want it a-creeping!"

"Gotcha," Clint laughed, already halfway to the door, "pants and food. I can do that." He threw a smirking smile at the bathroom door, "You think you can handle her if she comes out before I get back?"

"Yeah," Duane grinned at his friend, "after all, she ain't got no gun this time!"

Joe heard unfamiliar voices talking and tried to force open his eyes. But as the growing warmth and comfort of the bed enticed him to sleep, he gave up trying….

Duane sat beside the slumbering kid and frowned. _Who was he, what was he doing with the girls and what the hell was going on?_

'_Geez,_' he thought to himself as he reached out and touched the kid's forehead to make sure he wasn't running a fever or anything. He wasn't. His skin was still a bit cool to the touch, but definitely warmer than it had been, _'all I did was ask April-May to marry me!'_

Getting up when he heard Clint at the door, Duane wondered vaguely if his girlfriend was ever planning on coming out of the bathroom again!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What room is it?" Fenton asked as he parked the SUV in front of the motel.

Frank sighed heavily, "11A – there, third from the end." He actually dreaded going back to the room. Joe's overnight bag was still there – along with his own. He swallowed back the painful lump in his throat as he slowly got out of the truck and followed his father towards the motel room. '_Hang on, little brother,'_ he thought, _'whereever you are, just hang on a bit longer – we'll find you tomorrow. I promise.'_

A dark haired stranger in a cowboy hat was laden down with bags of take-out food and struggling with an overnight bag as the rain drenched him mercilessly.

"Let me give you a hand," the teen offered, reaching to take one of the bags even as he passed his father the key to his and Joe's room so Fenton could unlock their door.

"Thank you." The man flashed him an easy smile and then knocked on the door with his foot. An instant later a second man, another cowboy, the teen guessed, opened the door and added his own 'thank you' as Frank passed him the bag he had been holding.

Turning away to follow his father into 11A, the teen was suddenly overcome with the strangest of feelings. He looked back towards the cowboys' room but saw the door to room 11B was now closed.

"You coming, Frank?" Fenton called out from inside the room.

"Yeah," the teen said, shaking off the feeling. It had been so weird. But for one crazy moment, Frank had had the strongest impulse to just go barreling into their room!

'_I must be more tired than I thought,_ 'he finally decided and quickly went back into his own room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 11**

"Do you want to tell me what happened now?" Duane asked April-May in a quiet voice. After Clint had gotten back with the soup, he and Duane had managed to rouse the stranger enough to get a few mouthfuls into the kid. Satisfied, they had helped settle him back down beneath the warm blankets just as Betty-Ann came back, dressed in a thick, white terrycloth bathrobe. A few minutes later April-May had finally come out of the bathroom, dressed similarly.

Now as Clint and Betty-Ann dozed on the other bed in the small room, Duane finally got a chance to talk to his girlfriend. He was sure the other girl had already given Clint the scoop, as he had heard their soft murmuring.

"I got scared," the brunette admitted, finding it hard to meet her boyfriend's gentle gaze. She toyed with a loose thread on the blanket as her eyes strayed across the slumbering face of the kid. "I just – when you asked me – I just got scared."

"Of me?" Duane pressed, his dark eyes searching her pretty face as she continued looking at the blond boy.

"No," April-May admitted, "of me. I was afraid that as soon as I said 'yes' it would be over. So I ran."

"Over?" the cowboy asked shaking his head slightly, "I'm not sure I understand, darlin'".

"I just wanted to do something exciting, one more time, you know?" Hazel eyes finally met his imploring gaze, "kinda like the final letting loose before – well, before getting married."

Duane chuckled softly and then reached out with a weathered hand and gently stroked her pale face. "So you did _this_?" He cast a quick glance at the boy.

"Well, not exactly," she admitted, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch, "he was an added bonus." She sighed and looked at the man. "The car broke down and we saw a truck coming towards us. I hid while Betty-Ann stayed on the road. It was a couple of randy guys, so we took their truck for the ride. Turns out they had this kid trussed up like a turkey in the back—" Her gaze softened as she looked at the 'bonus.' "poor kid."

"Probably not their truck then either," Duane mused with a frown, and then he looked sharply at the girl. "You _took_ their truck? Why do I assume this involved my gun – you remember, the same gun you pulled on me and Clint before you and Betty-Ann took off?'

"Oh, about that," the girl blushed heavily, "sorry. Like I said, I panicked."

"Where is the gun now?" the man asked, and then added as he recognized the sheepish look on his girlfriend's face, "or is it in the damn river?"

"Try and look on the bright side," April-May said as she slowly moved closer to Duane and then slipped an arm around his waist.

"You lost my gun, April-May. We have a 'nonymous teenager unconscious in a motel room – a kid you got after hijacking a possibly already stolen truck – I'm not sure I can see any bright side, " the man admitted, trying hard to ignore the effect the pretty girl was having on him.

"Well 'side the fact we're probably heroes for saving this guy from those bozos," she looked deeply into his tanned face, her voice softened, "you got yourself a fiancé."

For a second Duane looked stunned and then her words sunk in. "You mean it?" he asked slowly, not trusting his own ears, but the broad smile on April-May's face was more than confirmation.

Momentarily forgetting about the three sleepers in the room, the cowboy swept the girl up and swung her around as he hollered at the top of his lungs.

When Clint and Betty-Ann both shot up out of the bed Duane just grinned, "We're getting married!" Immediately the room was set in jubilant motion as backs were patted, and hugs exchanged.

Oblivious to it all, an exhausted Joe Hardy only turned his head and settled back down into the warmth and comfort of the bed.

After a few minutes things had calmed down again and the two men looked at each other and then the kid.

"That still leaves us with one big problem, though, "Clint said softly, his arm around Betty-Ann.

"Yup," agreed Duane holding onto his fiancé tightly, "or rather, one slumbering problem."

"What do you want to do?" the black-haired man asked, looking at his friend. It really was Duane's call; after all it was Duane's gun that might be found in the truck shortly, if it had not been already.

"Let's get some sleep first," the cowboy said, glancing at the time, "a couple of hours anyway. Before sunup, we leave."

"What about him?" Betty-Ann asked, looking at the boy.

"We leave him," Duane told her. "Once we get on the road, I'll stop at the first payphone and leave a tip at the Sheila Flats Sheriff's department. Who knows, he might be someone they're already looking for."

"Good idea," Clint agreed, "the sheriff will know exactly what to do with him."

"All right then. It's settled. Girls, you can take the room next door. I'll give you a twenty-minute notice before we pull out, is that okay?" Duane asked, looking from one face to the other.

"That's just fine," April-May declared, nodding her head, "it don't take us long to get ready."

"Good," Duane said, satisfied with the plan, "we leave before first light. And if we're lucky...that kid won't remember a dang thing about us…."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

In the room next door, Frank Hardy lay on one of the beds and stared up at the darkened ceiling. Next to him, in the other bed, he knew his father wasn't asleep either. But neither spoke. Both lost in their own thoughts.

Frank heard a celebratory shout from the guys next door and sighed. _'At least someone's happy tonight'_ he thought as he closed his eyes and sighed. _'Where are you, kiddo?_' he wondered, swallowing back the painful lump that rose in his throat, _'you can't be dead, Joe. You can't be…'_ In the morning, he and his father would resume the search for his brother – or more accurately, for his brother's body. But for tonight, Frank still held out hope.


	12. Chapter 12

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 12**

The next morning broke bright and sunny. The roads were still wet but at least the rains had stopped.

Tom Oakes groaned and looked at the time when he heard the phone next to his bed ringing. 5:30 a.m. Cursing the caller, he grabbed the receiver and muttered, "This had better be good."

Oh it is. Very good the voice of his deputy Miles Parsons filled his ear Just got an anonymous tip about a blond haired teenage boy found by the river. The kid fits the description of that missing Hardy kid. Thought you might want to know..

Instantly, the sheriff was standing, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he reached for his pants. "Where is he?" he demanded tersely.

They left him at the motel. Room 11B. Said the kid was pretty much fine. A bit banged up but definitely not dead.

"I'm on my way," Oakes told his deputy before hanging up the phone and finishing getting dressed. '_Not dead…yet'_, he thought to himself, his mind already racing about how he could still make this all work; his memory flooded with the image of Fenton Hardy's wad of cash. _'I'll pin that boy's murder on his brother yet!'_

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

Joe Hardy groaned as he slowly opened his eyes and glanced around. "Where the heck am I?" he wondered aloud as he carefully eased his stiff body out of bed – he had to pee like nobody's business!

"What the-?" he exclaimed when he noticed what he was wearing, "These aren't my clothes!"

Feeling decidedly unsettled, the teen finished in the bathroom quickly, washed his face and then checked out the small motel room, scowling when he picked up the phone and got no dial tone. At first he wondered if this had all been some bizarre dream, but that didn't explain the clothes, why this wasn't the room he and Frank had rented, or – Joe stepped back into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror – or why his face was bruised and sore.

He winced as he saw the vivid bruise on his jaw. '_Good thing Frank pulled back on that punch,_' he thought, running his fingers through his tangled hair, wincing as he brushed over a painful lump on the back of his head. _'mind you…he's probably going to feel pretty bad when he sees he left a mark!'_

So it had all happened – that was the only thing he could deduce.

Involuntarily he shivered as he thought about Cletus and Norton, quickly moving to make sure the room door was locked. His memories of _them_ were pretty vivid but things got hazier after they went to the bank machine.

Something about two pretty girls…another douse of river water and – the teen screwed up his face as a vague image of two men's faces came to mind. Or was it only one guy? Muffled voices. Warmth. Laughter?

Shaking his head, Joe sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face, trying to ignore the tenderness in his shoulders. He'd spent too much time tied up yesterday – or he hoped it was only yesterday. But he just didn't know….

"Gotta get to a phone," the teen said to no one as he looked around for something to put on his bare feet. "Gotta call Dad and find out what happened with Frank – let him know where I am." At least he was dressed, in an oversized plaid shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. The jeans fit rather well, all things considered.

"Need my own underwear, though," he groused as he got on his hands and knees to look under the bed. "There's just something very wrong about wearing someone else's boxers! Oh crud," he cursed. He had nothing to put on his feet. "Cletus! Norton! Now you've really ticked me off! Taking a guy's sneakers…and my socks—" he sat back on his heels and scowled, "that was just low!"

Sighing, he slowly got to his feet and headed for the door. Bare-foot or not, he needed to find a phone!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank opened his eyes as soon as he heard his father get up.

"I'll grab a shower first," Fenton said, moving towards the bathroom, "and then once you're done, we can call Deputy Hilroy and find out what the search plans are."

The dark-haired teen nodded and then closed his eyes tiredly. He had not slept very well at all, as his sleep had been plagued with the same nightmare, over and over again. It always started the same, with his and Joe's fight on the bridge…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe had just stepped outside the motel room when he saw the sheriff's jeep pull up in front of him and recognized Sheriff Oakes smiling at him. The smile sent a chill coursing down the boy's spine.

"Joe Hardy?" Oakes verified as he approached the kid. Joe instinctively took a step back and paused briefly before nodding. No use in denying it now.

"Yeah…that's me."

"Well boy, I must say you've made the last twenty-four hours rather eventful. We thought you were dead – a couple of times over, actually." The sheriff continued smiling but the look in his eyes was downright predatory. "I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am to find you. Now if you'll come with me."

"Uh…if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. I was just going to use that payphone over there—" Joe indicated the one he saw outside the motel office, "to call my Dad and then grab a bite to eat." As if on cue his stomach growled – having only a couple of mouthfuls of soup since the supper he and Frank had together the night before his 'murder.'

"I'm afraid I need to insist on this," the sheriff said, and Joe's eyes widened in disbelief when the man un-holstered his gun, "in fact, you might even say I'm not prepared to take no as an answer."

"Am I being arrested?" the teen asked, his heart rate picking up, knowing it would be a very bad idea to go with Oakes. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but something was definitely not right about all this.

The man never answered him, just indicated with the gun. "Come on son, nice and slow. Get in the jeep."

"What you going to do if I don't?" Joe joked tensely, "Shoot me?"

"I'd prefer not," Oakes admitted, "a hole might be hard to explain in a drowning victim."

"_In a drowning victim_?" the boy repeated slowly, his eyes widening as something clicked. "Wait a sec! You're planning on tossing me back in your stupid river and trying to somehow still pin my brother on a murder rap, aren't you?"

"You are a smart kid," the man acknowledged, "However, that won't really help you much. Now come on. Move."

"I've survived that river twice now," Joe stalled for time. "They say third time's a charm."

The man snorted. "Not this time, kid. Now get in the jeep."

"No," Joe flatly refused, his irritation rising at the audacity of this corrupt sheriff. _Did he actually think Joe was going to go along with this, quietly?_

"No?" The sheriff was not impressed.

"No," the boy repeated, his voice rising with each word until he was practically shouting. "You listen here! In the past twenty-four hours I've been knocked out twice…trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey…been hijacked by the hillbilly versions of Dumb and Dumber…had my clothes stolen…my money stolen…been swimming and almost drowned in your river – _twice_…woke up in a strange motel wearing someone else's underwear and NOW you want me to go along with you – _quietly_ – so you can toss me back in that damn river and accuse my brother of murdering me. _I think not!_" He folded his arms in defiance and glared at the shocked sheriff, his blue eyes flashing angrily. "You're going to have to shoot me first!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank opened his eyes and frowned as he heard some sort of commotion coming from outside his room.

Sitting up, he strained to make out what was being said over the sound of his father's shower.

…_I think not!_

The blood drained from Frank's face – that voice... it sounded like – but no it couldn't be…could it?

…_You're going to have to shoot me first!_

Quickly he stood up, his heart just about pounding out of his chest – that voice sounded just like Joe!


	13. Chapter 13

**Killing Joe**

**Chapter 13**

Stealthily, Frank peered out the motel room window and gasped in shock. It _was_ Joe! His relief was short-lived though, when he saw the gun in the sheriff's hand!

Moving quickly, the teen crossed the room and pounded on the bathroom door before grabbing his pants and almost jumping into them – he had no time to waste!

"Frank?" Fenton's voice called out as he opened the door a crack, "What's wrong?" He watched as his son dressed in a frenzy.

"Joe's outside—" Frank managed, already moving towards the door, "with the sheriff…and Oakes has a gun on him!"

Instantly the detective was moving. Wrapping a white towel snugly around his waist, he grabbed his own gun and hurried after his son!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Oakes moved towards Joe, backing the teen against the closed motel door. Joe fumbled to open the door knob but it had locked when he exited the room, and he didn't have the key.

"I would prefer _not_ to shoot you," the sheriff was saying, "however right now I'm thinking you're not giving me much choice." He raised the gun…

"_How are you going to explain shooting an unarmed person?"_ The unexpected voice startled both Joe and Oakes, who whirled towards the newcomer. Joe breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he saw his brother, but the relief was short-lived as the gun was now pointing at Frank!

"Whoa! Easy there!" Frank said, putting up his hands in a placating gesture even as he continued to move slowly towards his brother until he was shoulder to shoulder with the younger boy. His dark eyes held the sheriff's gaze, almost challenging him to try and hurt his brother now.

Oakes looked unsure what to do – an uncertainty that grew when a towel-clad Fenton Hardy stepped out of the motel room behind Frank, his own gun held loosely in his hand, though his body was tensed.

"Put down the gun, Oakes," Fenton commanded, as he glanced at Joe before locking onto the sheriff, "the boys are unarmed."

The sheriff looked from Frank and Joe to Fenton and then back at the boys again. He held his gun steadily pointed at Frank.

"I'll go with you," Joe suddenly said, desperate to break the standoff and terrified the man was going to shoot his brother. He started to move forward but Frank grabbed his arm.

"Like hell you will," he growled at the younger boy, holding onto him firmly.

"TOM OAKES!" A new voice shouted out from behind them, and Joe saw another lawman step out from behind a large silver SUV. "Put the gun down!" The new man held his own weapon trained on the sheriff. "_NOW_!"

"Blake," Oakes said, recognizing the deputy's voice without looking, "This doesn't involve you. Leave and forget you were ever here."

"Ain't going to happen," Deputy Hilroy told him, "My name isn't Miles Parsons. I'm not under your thumb or on your payroll. Now put down the gun and step back from the boys – I won't ask a third time!"

After another long moment, the sheriff slowly started to comply. He started to lower the gun but just as Joe sagged against his brother in relief, the man brought the weapon back up – firing as he did so!

Acting completely on instinct, Frank shoved Joe to the ground even as the gun went off! The bullet whizzed past the older teen's face as two other shots instantly rang out and the sheriff dropped heavily to the ground in front of them.

Fenton Hardy and Deputy Hilroy quickly lowered their guns and hurried towards the boys. And while Hilroy checked the sheriff, the detective pulled his sons to their feet.

Once he'd assured himself they were both fine, he grabbed them in a tight hug. "Oh thank God," he murmured and then glanced down at the kneeling deputy.

Blake looked up at Fenton. "He'll live," the lawman commented as he pressed his hand against the gunshot wound in the sheriff's arm; the other bullet had grazed the same arm.

Reluctantly the senior Hardy released his sons. "You okay?" he asked, addressing Joe as he eyed his bruised face.

Joe smiled and gave a small nod. "I am now."

Fenton gave his shoulder a squeeze and then turned to help the deputy with the wounded Oakes, blushing and pausing when he realized how undressed he was! "Uh I think I'd better get something a little more traditional to wear, first!"

The brothers snickered even as Deputy Hilroy just shrugged and deadpanned, "It does make it kind of hard to keep the weapon concealed, doesn't it?"

As their father's face went two shades redder and he disappeared back into room 11B, Frank turned to his younger brother and sighed. "What happened to sticking to the plan, bro?"

Joe shrugged; his smile wry. "Something came up. Or rather, two somethings…"

"Yeah, so I've seen. Quite the pair. They're in the Sheila Falls jail now," Frank said, reaching out to gently touch the bruise on his brother's jaw. Joe closed his eyes briefly at the touch. "You scared the shit out of me, little brother….I was beginning to think we really had lost you."

Joe heard the emotion in his brother's voice, and when he answered his tone was just as husky. "For a little while there, I was thinking the same thing." He shifted slightly and Frank's eyes clouded with concern:

"You okay?"

"Yeah—" the younger boy started, and then let out an exasperated sigh. "You know, the shirt is kinda big—" he plucked at the plaid shirt hanging loosely over his torso, "the jeans fit okay—" he glanced down at the pants and then his eyes went wide in mock horror, "but these boxers gotta go—" Frank started to chuckle. "No room to move!"

As Frank threw back his head and laughed, he draped his arm around his brother's shoulder and started to lead him towards their room. "Well, come on kiddo. You're in luck—" he paused and teased, his eyes gleaming with affection, "unless, of course, you forgot to pack clean underwear, that is!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Deputy Hilroy couldn't contain the chuckle as he watched the brothers disappear into the motel room. He glanced down at the wounded sheriff and snorted, "And you thought that one of those boys could possibly have done anything to the other? For a man who claims to do his homework on any newcomer in his town – you get an F on this assignment….Oh, and I guess I should add, Thomas Oakes, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Joseph Hardy…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Cletus scowled as he glared down at his wrist. Sitting next to him – handcuffed to him –Norton was looking around the inside of the deputy's car as they pulled away from the Sheila Falls jailhouse. They were being transported to the larger town of Knox Landing, an hour's drive from Sheila Falls, where they would prosecuted.

"This is a much nicer car than the other one," Norton commented as he looked around approvingly at the patrol car. "It's newer—"

The deputy driving them glanced over his shoulder but never commented.

"Spiffier," Norton amended and then looked at his friend. "What do you think, Cletus?"

"I think—" the man started slowly, "that this is going to be a very long drive."

"Oh come off it," Norton continued, "you gotta learn to appreciate little things like this, Cletus. I mean, we could be riding around in a beat-up second-rate car with tears in the seats and smudges on the windows, but look—" he ran his finger along the clean window, leaving a mark, "the only marks here are the ones we leave. Kinda nice, actually. Makes me feel rather immortal-like."

Cletus stared at his friend in disbelief. "You are really something Norton, you know that?"

"Why thank you," Norton quipped, oblivious to insult, "and to think I thought you never truly appreciated me, you know? Goes to show you can grow up with someone, spend almost every waking moment together and still not truly know them!"

The dark-haired prisoner leaned forward and addressed the deputy: "Can this car go any faster? I'm kind of anxious to get there, if you get my drift."

The deputy grinned but still didn't say anything.

"Can you at least put the radio on or something?" Cletus glanced at Norton. "Anything that might shut _him_ up?"

Still no response, but a few moments later, the low sounds of a country music station filled the car.

"Oooh, I really like that song," Norton chimed in as soon as he heard the tune – and then to Cletus's horror – broke into song.

"Good God, " Cletus muttered, "I'm going to have to kill him—" But before he could make good on his threat, another car came skidding around the corner directly towards them!

The deputy swerved, narrowly avoiding getting hit, but went into a skid himself, and the car spun off the side of the road, rolled over and came to rest on its roof!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"APRIL-MAY!" Duane yelled, "SLOW DOWN!" But it was too late, and as they rounded the corner they saw the deputy car swerve out of their way and go over the side of the road.

Immediately the brunette slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a sliding stop.

"I knew it was a mistake to let you drive!" Duane muttered as he and Clint jumped out of the car to make sure the deputy was okay.

As they watched, the driver's side door opened and the deputy pulled himself out of the car. Satisfied that he was okay, the cowboys jumped back into their own vehicle, Duane pushing April-May into the passenger seat so he could drive.

"Let's go!" Clint hollered and they took off, tires spinning in the gravel.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Cletus could not believe their luck; not only weren't they dead but the door next to him popped open! Pulling Norton along with him, Cletus crawled out of the car. He saw the deputy, apparently stunned, but alive, already outside, and he stood up quickly. They needed to get out of here before the other man regained his senses and pulled his gun on them!

"Come on!" he yelled at his friend as the two scrambled back up onto the road and started to run.

They had only gone about a hundred feet when Norton started to complain. "Slow down Cletus…" he gasped, "I gotta cramp!"

Cletus groaned but didn't slacken his pace. If it wasn't for the fact that they were handcuffed together, he would leave Norton in a heartbeat right now.

"So help me God, Norton," he growled instead, "you'd better keep up, or else I'll be dragging your sorry ass along this road…family or no family!"

And for once in his life, Norton never said anything. He just continued to run.

The End.


End file.
